


Egregious Metaphor

by spellcastersjudgement



Series: The Pornographic Adventures of Bastion Misawa [7]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bastion has terrible friends, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Face-Sitting, Feminization, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Size Difference, camshow, mariokart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellcastersjudgement/pseuds/spellcastersjudgement
Summary: "Holding the dildo in his lubricated hand, the phone in his other, he accessed Elemental Angel’s website for the third night in a row. At one point (two weeks ago) he would’ve said his mind was doomed to implosion and he would regress intellectually. Now ‘overdose on hedonism’ would be his ideal cause of death."





	Egregious Metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> WOW OKAY its been uhhh 6 ish months since i last posted??? im sorry yall ive been dying from university and not felt motivated...this part has been in the works since last July so i hope it lives up to yalls expectations 
> 
> i do hope to stay motivated and not have 6 months between updates again since i know we all need regular doses of degeneracy in our lives

Bastion vowed never to drink again. 

“Fuck! Fuck—fuck—fuckfuckfuck fuck you!” 

Briar, Beauregard, and Dmitri had nearly busted down his door that morning at the ripe hour of nine o’clock, arms full of snacks and drinks, ready for a full day of playing MarioKart. Waking up disoriented, the taste of stale liquor in his mouth, half dressed—a situation reminiscent of his college days. Briar and Dmitri had teased him about his appearance, hair disheveled and chin prickly with stubble, telling him he was falling down on the job regarding his manscaping. 

“God damnit, ‘mitri—you’re watching my screen aren’t you!” Briar whined, a blue shell exploding on the track, eleven carts passing him and making him dead last. 

“How the hell—I won, yes!” Dmitri cheered, falling over laughing as Briar pushed him, nearly knocking a drink on to the floor. “Briar, I can’t watch your screen, we fixed that,” 

They had indeed. While Bastion made coffee and responded to Tanya’s texts asking him if he was able to walk straight this morning (he could, but after she joked about being willing to take care of him if he wasn’t feeling well he thought about lying), Briar and Dmitri had deconstructed a box from the recycling bin and attached it to the television so there would be no screen watching. Bastion might have objected to the tape on the screen if he could think past the pounding in his head, though it would be futile to object to his friends. Beauregard had joined him in the kitchen, watching the makeshift screen divider being created by the other two, knowing it better to simply stay out of the way. 

True to what they’d talked about the other day, they were holding a tournament. Bastion was in the lead, though not with a perfect record because of this infernal headache. The light through the windows and the sounds from the television exacerbated the pain, and after six cups of coffee in two hours, enough painkillers to make him question whether or not he was bordering on overdose—it all made him want to go back to this morning where he’d accepted Camula’s invitation to come back to her house with Tanya, Espada, and Paladino and drink some more, and decline as an act of self preservation. 

It was fun, undoubtedly. After masturbating in the bathroom (not his proudest moment by any means) he could interact with them like a normal person, not like a teenager just discovering women for the first time. Camula had nearly as much alcohol at her apartment as she had at the bar and was not afraid to mix the drinks strong. The fact he could remember anything when he woke up was a feat, seeing as Tanya had to practically carry him up the stairs to his apartment. 

Unfortunately, drunk Bastion didn’t invite her in. Or kiss her goodnight. Or even say anything vaguely flirtatious. Just unlocked the door, thanked her, and stumbled in. 

“Okay Bas it’s your turn to pick the track,” Briar looked over his shoulder. 

Sipping his coffee, Bastion flitted through the options. Rainbow Road would be too difficult in his diminished capacity even if it would be humorous to watch Briar scream every time he fell off. Clicking over to Maple Treeway—Dmitri groaned—he took a final sip of coffee before starting the race. 

They were lining up, Bastion in third, Briar moaning about being last. The music for this track was especially annoying, and once they really got going, the screaming and swearing from the two on the floor that were getting progressively more caffeinated and would be a hot mess of sugar in the next hour would only make him want to put in some earplugs, retire to his room, and sleep the day away. 

Halfway through the first lap and in no danger of the others catching up to him, Bastion wished that Dmitri and Briar would be just as quiet as Beauregard, knowing full well that would never happen. As he started the second lap Dmitri fell off, if his yelling was anything to go by, everything came to a screeching halt as the doorbell rang. 

“Pause, pause,” Briar ordered. “You expecting someone?” 

“No, I’m not,” Bastion put down his controller, feeling like his joints were creaking as he pushed himself up. 

When he opened the door there was no one there, leaving him confused. Stepping out onto the landing, his foot knocked against a box. 

Staring down at the nondescript package, Bastion couldn’t remember what he’d ordered. 

The realization hit him like a freight train. 

Bastion Misawa had received his dildo and lube. While his friends were over. His exceptionally nosy friends. 

He was inclined to believe he was being punished for masturbating in public. 

“Bas, who the hell’s there?” 

Picking up the box, he closed the door. Maybe everyone would be too engrossed in the game to see him hurrying to the bedroom. 

Luck was not on his side. 

“What’s that?” 

Briar was in the kitchen, getting a can of soda out of the fridge. He was short, all Bastion would have to do was hold the package above his head so he wouldn’t get it. The whining would be nothing compared to the shitstorm of having to explain, or rather figure out how to get out of explaining, what was inside. Of course, Bastion was not nearly fast enough to lift his arm. 

A track and field star in college, it wasn’t difficult for Briar to take the short distance between them at full speed, snatching the box. Soda spilled out of his cup and onto the kitchen floor, which would normally earn him a lecture. Now, he felt his endocrine system flood his body with adrenaline—he was fully alert, his heart rattling his ribs, reaching over Briar, trying to get at the box. 

“Briar, don’t do that,” Beauregard sighed as his boyfriend tossed the box to Dmitri, who stretched out to catch it with his fingertips, the two of them giggling madly as Bastion panicked. 

“Come on babe, we’re all friends here!” Briar joined Dmitri on the floor. 

Bastion had never learned how to wrestle, but he was going to give it a college try. 

“Drop that!” he ordered, knocking over several cans of soda and rolling onto a controller. A knee was in his chest as he landed on top of one of them, at this point it didn’t matter because no one could ever know he had bought a dildo. Shrieking filled the air, Bastion’s bellowing joining in, ordering them to give him the package back. 

They didn’t listen, and Bastion felt like a man possessed as he tackled Dmitri to the ground. 

“Give it back!” he kept his hold on Dmitri’s middle, his shoulder connecting with his teeth, his mind running through every horribly embarrassing, life-ending, soul-crushing scenario of what would happen if one of them ripped open the cardboard and saw—god, he couldn’t think of it anymore. 

“Briar, catch!” Dmitri tossed it back over his head, and Bastion had vivid flashbacks to primary school and Monkey in the Middle. 

Beauregard was now up, trying and failing to catch his boyfriend as he sprinted to the bathroom down the hall, locking the door and howling with laughter. 

Bastion let go of Dmitri and collapsed on the floor, staring up at the popcorn ceiling he so hated. As his heart thundered from both the physical exertion of wrestling his friends to the ground and fear, he felt the intense desire to shrink down to the size of an ant just so someone could end him quickly with an errantly placed step. Briar was in the bathroom, no doubt ripping open the cardboard and extricating the sex toy, and Beauregard’s scolding, telling him it wasn’t any of his business, fell on deaf ears. 

“What’s in it, Bri?” Dmitri called. 

Disassociate. That was the best solution for this. Being at the beach, maybe floating on a cloud, even being in the quietest, most deserted part of the library at college—all of that would be better than here. Since they’d become friends, Briar, Dmitri, and Beauregard had never known him to be a sexual being. Though he had come to accept that part of himself, they didn’t, they couldn’t know. The intellectual one, that was his image, the one above his base urges. Hell, he was Spock in the group Halloween photo junior year. That was gone, all of it. 

A scream erupted from the bathroom. Bastion laid on the ground and thought about where his life had taken a turn. 

“Bastion Misawa, you have been a naughty, naughty boy!” the door hinges creaked open. “Holding out on us like this—look, look at what I got!” 

Dmitri’s feet slapped against the hardwood. A beat of silence. 

“Holy fucking—Bas ordered this?” 

Deep breathing. That was a good exercise for calming down. Today was not the day to die of heart failure or anxiety, not when the only witnesses to his death were holding a vibrating dildo and sixteen ounces of lubricant. 

“It’s kinda small,” 

“Yeah, for his tight ass,” 

“Briar, you shouldn’t have opened that,” Beauregard rumbled, disapproval evident in his voice. 

Perhaps he should move, sit up, say something to defend himself. The tactic of pretending he was in the tropics identifying species of plants and drawing them in detail (truly a vacation that would be equal parts educational and fun) wasn’t working like he wanted, it was only tainting the image. Forever and ever he would think of Briar and Dmitri’s voices, appraising his sex toy among his fantasy of crashing waves and palm trees. 

If a man couldn’t even disassociate to escape their friends, what was the point of bad coping mechanisms? 

“Bastion, you’ve got some explaining to do,” Briar’s face appeared above him, the dildo in his hand, the color even uglier in person. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he said, and he wished he sounded angry. Instead it was like he was hearing his words from the next room, the blood in his ears muffling the sound. 

“Don’t be like that, Bas,” Dmitri joined Briar in leaning over him, their cheeks pressed together, grins on their faces that Bastion would’ve loved to wipe off with a well-timed punch. 

“Come on Bas,” Briar wheedled. The nickname in any other context may have made him more amenable, soften him up, but now he wanted to rip off their eyebrows. “I didn’t even know you had a penis until recently,” 

“You gonna use this on your girlfriend?” Dmitri took the dildo from Briar, holding it by the base, dangling it a few inches above his nose. 

“Tanya is not my girlfriend,” he said, conveniently leaving out that he would very much like her to be. Smoldering with anger and embarrassment had an upside in this moment: his body was not reacting to images of fucking Tanya with the dildo. 

“Fuck buddy then,” Briar said. “You lost your v-card yet? Or are you still waiting for marriage like a good boy?” 

“Briar,” Beauregard sighed. Bastion would’ve felt bitter that his friend wasn’t defending him if he knew there was nothing except some well-placed duct tape could shut either of them up. 

“Come on, Beau—he spends the entire time we’ve known him acting like he’s above all of us because he hasn’t had sex, and now he buys a sex toy?” Briar laughed. “It vibrates too. No batteries included, ‘mitri checked,” 

“Hope you have double A’s,” Dmitri giggled, poking him in the cheek with the tip of the dildo. 

“Can we go get you some, Bas?” 

“Yeah, we can leave you alone for a couple hours, let you get acquainted,” 

The dildo poked at his lips, and Bastion shot up. Briar squealed as Bastion’s forehead busted his chin, and the horrible part of his mind thought the green-haired man deserved every bit of pain he got. It was reparations for the emotional pain and suffering, and if Bastion were prepared to admit in open court he watched porn and had an overwhelming desire to put things in his ass, he might actually sue. 

Resting his head in his hands, he considered becoming a hermit. The painkillers were slowly making his headache subside, just the edge taken off for now, but sitting up so quickly had made him dizzy, his stomach twisting and lurching. Perhaps he could vomit on Briar and Dmitri, make them understand their harassment would not be tolerated. 

That was a lie. He always ended up giving in to them sooner or later, even when they drew penises on his face when he fell asleep first or put bleach in his shampoo so he walked around with white hair for two weeks. This was horrible and humiliating but in the grand scheme of all the things they’d done to get under his skin, this time tomorrow there wouldn’t be any lasting physical damage. The mental damage he would probably take to his grave, but he could repress this memory like so many from his childhood. 

“Alright, alright, we promise not to tell anyone about your toy, Bas,” Briar rested his chin on Bastion’s shoulder, arms around him in an embrace. “It’s funny though, you gotta admit,” 

“You know we’ll still be your friends even if you are a deviant,” Dmitri leaned against his side, still holding the dildo, turning it over in his hand, examining it from all angles. 

“Wanting things in your ass isn’t deviant, Dmitri,” 

“I can confirm that I have never once wanted anything near my ass,” Dmitri said. “Strictly a top,” 

“You wouldn’t let a pretty girl peg you?” Briar scoffed. 

“Can’t say that I would,” 

“Tragic. You don’t know what you’re missing buddy,” 

“Oh my god, you have never had a girl fuck you in the butt,” Dmitri rolled his eyes 

Bastion felt like a jungle gym. Two immature boys were hanging off of his back and his shoulder, yelling at each other about inane things while on a sugar high. Though he didn’t appreciate the yelling in his ear about who liked what in their ass at least he was no longer the topic of conversation. Glancing over to the ugly yellow beacon of sin that was his newly-acquired dildo, he realized that the image of Dmitri’s delicate fingers wrapped around the shaft would never leave his mind. How was he supposed to insert that into himself when the image of his friend’s hand was all he could think about? 

“Look, Kagurazaka, you have to understand,” Briar was trying to convince him of the benefits of anal penetration. “There is nothing better than a girl slamming you from behind,” 

“Your boyfriend is right fucking there, Briar,” 

“Yeah, and he slams me from behind too—I’m like Bas, I’m bi and I don’t discriminate on who gets the pleasure of fucking my asshole,” 

Bastion was so mortified that they were talking about his ass he didn’t have the energy to correct him. 

“Briar, Dmitri,” Beauregard had put on his fatherly voice, interrupting their conversation. Bastion could’ve handed the man a crisp $100 bill for the few seconds of silence he’d given him. “Let’s go back to our game,” 

A huff rustled Bastion’s hair. “Fine, we’ll be nice. Give him his dick back, Dee,” 

The dildo landed on Bastion’s lap. “Lube is in the bathroom,” 

Weight lifted off his back and shoulder. The sounds of soda cans clinking against each other sounded behind him, reminding Bastion of how in his frantic attempt to spare his own dignity he had trashed the living room. With any luck, he’d only knocked over empty cans and all he’d have to worry about was making sure no pop-tops had broken off and were lying in wait to injure him later. 

“Go put your shit away, Bastion,” Briar was in the kitchen, cleaning up the spilled soda from a few minutes ago. “Don’t just sit there with your dick in your hands. Hey, is that dildo to scale? Are you that small?” 

“No, I’m,” Bastion started to respond, realizing he was being baited a second later. 

“You got a horse cock?” Dmitri laughed. 

“That’s enough, you already had your fun,” Beauregard interrupted. 

Briar turned his attention to his boyfriend, giving Bastion a moment to stand up and retreat to the bedroom, stopping by the bathroom to retrieve the lube. The box sat in ruins on the floor, ripped to shreds in Briar’s haste. It could stay there for now. In fact, he couldn’t even stand to look at it, his cheeks burning as he walked to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and leaning back against it. 

They were waiting for him to get back to resume their tournament, however he would need a moment—several moments probably—to cycle through the five stages of grief before he went back out there. Unpacking the dildo was not supposed to be a public affair, it was supposed to be him huddled in his bedroom with the blinds shut, naked with a cock hard enough to cut diamonds. Looking down at the toy clutched in his hand, the only thing he’d achieved of his original plan was the embarrassment. 

Sitting down on the bed, he rested his forehead in his palm after tossing the lube over his shoulder, hearing a muffled thump on the pillows. The yellow, which had looked to be a mustard color online, reminded him of the time his college friend had vomited up straight bile after stumbling home from a frat party, memories of holding her hair back while Dmitri rubbed her back and tried to pour ginger ale down her throat. Yet another thing to add to the list of why it would be difficult to actually put it in his ass. 

The veins were a nice touch, he thought. They’d looked more painted-on when he’d purchased it, purely for show. His index finger traced the veins from the base upward, ending at the ridges beneath the head, his heart beating faster, not out of embarrassment but from excitement, curiosity. The voices and laughter from the living room faded as he turned the toy over, thinking about how he wished it’d come with batteries so he could flip the ‘on’ switch and feel it vibrate. 

It would be an exquisite feeling—here an image of Jaden Yuki burying a vibrator in Chazz Princeton’s ass came into focus, his teeth biting into his lip as arousal twisted in his stomach at the memory. The pure ecstasy on Chazz’s face at the sensations had made Bastion jealous then, desperate to feel the same pleasure, and as his thumb stroked the underside, running over another one of the veins, up over the underside of the head, resting on the tip, it was as if the wires in his head had finally connected. It was as if the past thirty minutes had never happened, as if his friends hadn’t put their hands all over it and ruined its potential for insertion. 

Bastion had a fleeting thought of putting on a show and angrily throwing his friends out, declaring himself the winner of their MarioKart tournament in the process, so he could have some quality time. Of course, his friends would know that was a farce, that he was going to lay on his bed and make himself come as many times as he could bear it, would probably send him texts teasing him about being a degenerate virgin. They would probably bring Tanya into it, too, and if they did that there was no way in hell he’d be able to respond to any of her messages. He may want to think about fucking her with it or asking her to fuck him with it, but he couldn’t—that wasn’t right. 

He needed to get back out there before Briar or Dmitri swung open the door and accused him of being inappropriate. Being inappropriate sounded good, though, and they were the ones that were initially inappropriate, poking him in the face with the toy and whatnot. Dmitri trying to stick it in between his lips had nearly given him a heart attack, the only reason he didn’t get an erection right then because he was still mid-disassociation. 

Now, sitting alone in his bedroom, his cock half-hard in his sweats as he tried to pretend that he wasn’t gripping the toy, moving his hand back and forth, pumping it slowly, he thought that perhaps he should revisit the feeling of it between his lips. The first time it’d barely been half a second before he’d jerked his head away. Perhaps he should indulge himself for a moment. 

Would he be able to walk out of the bedroom without a raging erection though? 

It was too late to think of the consequences of sucking on the dildo, as it was already pushing past his lips, eyes falling shut as the silicone laid against his tongue. Watching Jaden and Jesse and Syrus suck cock gave him a bit of an idea regarding how to proceed, taking a deep breath through his nose and pushing the cock in until he felt his throat constrict, moving it back and forth at a steady pace. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his tongue, given that he couldn’t see inside their mouths during the act, leaving the muscle lying there awkwardly. 

Moving the dildo in and out, his hand and mouth working in tandem, trying to suck in his cheeks like he’d seen on Elemental Angel but failing spectacularly, saliva squeezing out of the corner of his mouth and sliding down to his chin. It was hot to watch the performers get sloppy when sucking cock, dripping with come and saliva and sweat, their eyes hazy and half-shut as they worked; however, he felt ridiculous, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, pausing in his ministrations, his cheeks on fire. Salivating over a fake cock seemed overkill. If he had someone attached to it, hearing their reactions, feeling them throb as they thrust into his mouth, maybe sliding their fingers into his hair and praising him, he wouldn’t think twice about spit dripping out of his mouth. 

Swallowing around the dildo, nicking the silicone with his teeth and admonishing himself because that would most definitely not be good if this were a real cock, he closed his eyes. A fleeting thought that he should get back to his friends was pushed away in favor of letting his mind roam, images of being on his knees, getting his throat fucked—it made his own cock twitch, his heartbeat quicken, and a moan rumble out of his chest. 

If this were a real cock, that would undoubtedly earn him a responding moan, maybe even a ‘good boy.’

“Bastion!” 

That would be a nice thing to hear too, he thought. His name, said through gritted teeth, maybe as their come flooded his mouth, fingers digging into his scalp. Imagination revved up, the vague, nameless, faceless person attached to the cock in his mouth morphed into tanned skin and dark brown eyes and lush pink lips stretched over a stunning smile. 

Jaden. It was Jaden’s cock he was imagining in his mouth. That was surprising, though not unwelcome. Come to think of it, he’d never seen Jaden get his cock sucked on camera, as usually he was the one with his mouth stuffed. Bastion bet he sounded incredible, was probably extremely vocal— 

“Bastion!” 

Yeah, he’d say his name. Bastion would love to hear it, would work hard to make Jaden feel good. Maybe, maybe if he was good Jaden would return the favor— 

“Bastion Misawa what the fuck are you doing?” 

The fantasy shattered. That was Briar’s voice, not Jaden. 

“You better not have that thing up your ass!” 

That was Dmitri. 

Pulling the dildo out of his mouth, glistening with spit, he sucked in a breath. He had to get his body under control before he spoke. “I had to calm down,” he put the dildo on the nightstand and walked over to the door, glad the sound of his friends’ voices had killed his erection quickly. He swung the door open, greeted by their mischievous grins. “I was deciding whether or not to throw you out for being terrible human beings,” 

“Either throw us out or come play!” Briar said. 

“If you throw us out, you forfeit and I get to go on Twitter and talk about how I kicked your ass!” Dmitri added. 

He couldn’t have that. 

Arousal depleted and dildo forgotten, Bastion’s competitive side reemerged. “Going to make some coffee, then once I beat you you’ll have to post your failure for all your followers to see,” 

\-----

He didn’t even think about the dildo until an hour or so after his friends left. The sky had darkened, his trash can full of soda cans and three empty pizza boxes on the dining room table, and since he’d won he’d made good on his promise to make Dmitri announce his defeat to the world. Or, not really the world, but all of his Twitter followers. Bastion had no idea how many he had or if they would even care; Dmitri acted like his world was falling apart, throwing a tantrum worthy of a kindergartener. It was priceless, and Bastion wished he’d thought to record it to embarrass him in the future. 

The apartment was quiet, blessedly so. Though his headache had disappeared a few hours ago, the screeching and swearing and the annoying background music of the game had not. Laying on the couch, scrolling through BBC’s website, thinking about how he hadn’t been home since he was eighteen and that his friends would most definitely tease him about his Americanized accent—completely relaxed, thoughts of going to sleep because he had to wake up tomorrow at a decent hour prodded at him. It wasn’t terribly late, not even ten o’clock, but given that he’d only gotten four hours of sleep last night it would be in his best interest to make up for it tonight. 

Flicking on the bedroom light, Bastion was reminded of his earlier activities, namely when he’d fantasized about giving a porn star a blowjob, when his eyes landed on the dildo. All thoughts of sleeping left him. Now the only thing occupying his mind was where he kept his batteries. 

It was a damn shame that all of the corded vibrators were considerably more expensive. Going through every drawer within his reach while he was thinking about how he was about to break in his new toy was frustrating to put it lightly. Batteries—when was the last time he’d even used batteries? Replacing the ones in the remote maybe? 

The bottom drawer in his home office, all the way in the back lay a handful of batteries of varying sizes. If none of these were double A then he was going to collapse on the floor and stare into the abyss until he acquired the ability to pull batteries out of thin air. 

Acquiring otherworldly abilities wasn’t needed. In the stash of what Bastion hoped would become obsolete technology he found his treasure, sprinting out of the office without even turning off the light or shutting the drawer. Surely the downstairs neighbors would complain about how loud he was, his footsteps thudding on the hardwood and bedroom door slamming. For the first time since Bastion had moved in two years ago he used the dimmer on the lightswitch—ambiance was certainly appropriate for one’s first venture into the word of anal stimulation. 

The lubricant was on the bed where he’d left it, like a landmark of debauchery. He’d already referred to the dildo as a ‘beacon of sin,’ which was incredibly apt given that just looking at it made him walk toward the nightstand in a trance. Yes, he’d had to suffer through embarrassment that made him want to donate his organs pre-mortem with no anesthetic. Yes, his friends had discovered he had sexual urges and would most likely never live it down for the rest of his natural life. It was worth it, or it would be worth it, once he had the thing stuffed in to the hilt. 

Best to get on that. 

He was a visual learner. Though a fan of intense research before any undertaking, Bastion had the privilege of watching both Jesse and Chazz on the receiving end of a good fingering, which was much more effective than reading how to do digital penetration. Much more arousing as well. Settling down on the bed, Bastion inserted the batteries, fumbling with them at first, body nearly vibrating with excitement. Putting them in the wrong way at first, he cursed under his breath and switched them around, thinking about how he was going to spring for the corded dildo when he upgraded. 

That added two things to the list for the next sex toy: different color, and a cord. How was he expected to achieve orgasm when he was thinking about negative and positive ends? 

Time to turn it on. There was only one setting, which would hopefully be strong enough to make him ascend into the next dimension. 

The switch clicked, and the dildo jumped out of his hands. 

“Shit,” he muttered, feeling the vibrations through his pants where it’d landed on his lap. Never before had his cock hardened so quickly, his stomach tightening, breathing picking up, his blood rushing toward his crotch. Lightheaded, he gathered the wherewithal to pick it up, feeling the vibrations all the way up to his shoulder. 

He was definitely spanning dimensions tonight. 

It was probably best to turn off the vibrations for now. Never before had he put anything in his anus, meaning he had to take a moment to lubricate everything. Being sent to the hospital with anal fissures from being too hasty was not an insurance claim he was willing to file. 

Pants and underwear came off in one motion, the clothing landing in a pile on the floor. Shirt was next, leaving him completely naked, excitement and anticipation pulsing beneath his skin. Though he had an idea of what he was doing when it came to the act of fingering, getting there was a bit daunting. It would be best to become fully aroused beforehand, surely.   
Easy enough. Peeling off the plastic seal on the lubricant, he pumped some into his hand, the liquid uncomfortably cold—no way that was touching his penis. Awkwardly he stared at his glistening fingers, hoping it would warm up soon from the body heat so he could get started. 

It seemed to take an eternity before the lube reached body temperature, and Bastion would have to figure out a more efficient way to do this. Later, of course—now, he was wrapping his hand around his cock, breath catching and teeth biting into his lip as his head fell back. Logically he knew that lube made it easier for his hand to slide up and down his shaft much more easily, but he wasn’t expecting the sensation to be so much more intense. His mind wondered if the tight grip on his cock coupled with the silky liquid approximated what pussy felt like. 

God, that was a ridiculous thought. It was embarrassing how much of a virgin he was to even think that. Clearly the porn he’d been consuming as of late had been less educational than he’d thought—unless he was getting progressively more desperate for his cock to come into contact with something other than his right hand. 

It was probably a bit of both, he thought. While his pornographic adventures had been educational in the kinkier aspect of sex, there was no step-by-step guide for virgins. Bastion was not unconvinced that the first time he saw another person naked (preferably Tanya, a voice in the back of his mind supplied) his heart might explode, meaning the last thing he saw before his untimely demise would be breasts. 

There were worse ways to go, he supposed. 

No more thinking about death while his dick was hard. More important, more pleasurable things awaited him, at least he hoped. A small part of him was tempted to just fuck his hand since he was already watching drops of pre-come leak out of the tip, landing on his stomach, abs tightening with each stroke up the shaft. It would be easy, wouldn’t require him to push past the anxiety of the unknown, unexplored area of his ass. 

He was like an explorer. The Lewis and Clark of anal penetration. 

Damn near prying his fingers off of his cock, Bastion pumped more lubricant onto his hand, using the time it took to match his body temperature to slow down his breathing, clearing his mind with each exhale so he’d have the presence to successfully finger himself. 

Propping himself up onto his elbow, Bastion looked down at his spread legs, hard cock curved against his stomach, and wished that there was a way to situate himself on the bed so that he could look in the mirror. Upon further consideration, it would most likely take one look at his flushed face and hard cock and pass out from embarrassment. What kind of deviant watched themselves in the mirror like that? 

It wasn’t a big deal, he could still do this. But he needed to do it now, while he still had the nerve. Deep inhale, heart throbbing in his chest, right hand reaching down, bypassing his aching cock, landing between his cheeks, just brushing against the hole. Okay, now this was the part where he’d need to rely on his pornographic memory to know how to proceed.   
Eyes squeezing shut, the image of Jesse Anderson on his hands and knees, fingers buried in his ass—god he wanted to stroke his cock again, his hips jerking upward involuntarily. 

Bastion needed to remember how he’d started out—one finger, he forced himself to remember. His middle finger, maybe? 

It didn’t matter, his first three fingers were well-lubricated and ready to slide in. Middle finger, he decided—that would be the first inside. Biting his lip, he slid his middle finger around the rim, feeling it contract in response to the stimulation—no more thinking, just push it in, he urged himself. It was like he had to give himself a pep talk like his baseball coach in high school before games. 

Though it was undeniably, egregiously cheesy, Bastion likened the first finger to first base. Time to hit the ball and start running. 

He would never admit he needed a sports metaphor to get over his nerves, even if it worked. Slight bit of pressure, sharp exhalation through his nose, bit of sweat gathering at his nape—

“Ah,” he gasped as his finger slid in past his second knuckle. Strange sensation, though not unpleasant, the muscles not having to work too hard to accommodate. 

Sliding out and pushing back in, Bastion wasn’t experiencing that pure ecstasy he’d seen on Jesse’s or Chazz’s faces, not yet. It was nice, though—a pleasant warmth in his stomach, a tingle rushing up his spine. Eyes flashed over to the dildo, figuring he would need to be able to fit at least three fingers inside—he had to concede that sounded much more daunting now that he could feel how tight the muscles were. Watching fist-sized anal beads or ten-inch cocks thrust inside someone’s ass without a second thought made Bastion underestimate the work needed to get to that point. 

Now, Bastion wasn’t sure he would ever get to Jesse Anderson levels of ass-stretching, but he definitely wanted that dildo inside of him. 

“Second base,” he muttered to himself, keeping up with the sports metaphor. If he hadn’t played baseball, how would he ever get through pushing in his ring finger, brows furrowing and eyes screwing shut at the stretch. Not painful, not a sharp pain at least, just the dull pain of stretching out a muscle—bearing down made it easier to get both of the fingers to the hilt, the muscles of his rim contracting around the intrusion, slowly starting to accommodate. 

At what point was he supposed to start screaming in pleasure? Though he was thoroughly enjoying the sensation, his stomach tensing, thoughts becoming muddled, Elemental Angel had put certain expectations in his head. If he could experience just a tenth of the pleasure he’d seen on screen, he could go to bed the happiest man alive. 

Of course, he could always reel his expectations back in. They were professionals, he was a virgin computer nerd—not anywhere near comparable. Tonight, he thought (one of the last fully clear thoughts he would have for the evening), he would aim for virgin computer nerd levels of stimulation. He could always work up to porn star levels in the future.   
Impatience overtook him as his index finger pushed in alongside the other two, a rough moan coming out of his mouth—painful, that was painful. Not painful enough to make him feel like he’d done any damage, just enough pain to make his erection flag, laying limply against his stomach. 

Third base had not gone well. 

Sucking in breaths, he forced himself to wait out the pain. Did all anal stimulation require this much waiting? Between waiting for the lube to reach body temperature and waiting for his hole to stretch around his fingers, he wouldn’t be surprised if by the time he got the dildo in a century had passed. 

Alright, it was starting to feel good again, and Bastion had half a mind to look at his cell phone to make sure it wasn’t almost time for him to wake up for work. Instead, he pumped more lubricant onto his hole, the position a bit awkward but worth it as his fingers glided even easier, his cock starting to harden again as his cheeks heated and sweat slid down his brow, back arching as he fucked himself with his fingers. 

“Ah!” he gasped, head dropping back onto the pillows. Pure electricity—shooting down his legs, up his spine, making his cheeks burn an his stomach twitch, mouth hanging open, his body feeling like it was floating. 

Breathing was all he could hear. Whatever he’d—found? was that the word he should use?—brushed past the last time he’d pushed his fingers in made his body convulse, like a hard reset button, like his brain had gone through a reboot. Somewhere in his lust-filled mind was the biological term for it, but he couldn’t be bothered. A more pressing issue was how quickly he could get the dildo inside. 

Pulling his fingers out, he reached for the dildo, catching sight of his cell phone next to it. 

Maybe, maybe he should have some visual stimulation. 

Holding the dildo in his lubricated hand, the phone in his other, he accessed Elemental Angel’s website for the third night in a row. At one point (two weeks ago) he would’ve said his mind was doomed to implosion and he would regress intellectually. Now ‘overdose on hedonism’ would be his ideal cause of death. 

Schedule. For—glancing to the time, Bastion realized he hadn’t taken as long as he thought—half past ten on a Sunday night, the schedule was desolate. A sarcastic thought of it being the Sabbath and the performers were cleansing themselves for the week of debauchery ahead passed, which made him snort at his own hilarity. He was distracted from reveling in his exceptional joke by Hassleberry’s name—three minutes and Bastion could fuck himself with a vibrator while watching a contender for “Sexiest Man Alive” performed. 

Clicking on Hassleberry’s name and seeing the logo pop up with the countdown, putting his phone on silent after it nearly vibrated off the bed with comment notifications. As enlightening as the comments could be, he had only two and a half minutes to get this dildo inside of him, ready to go in time for the performance. 

Perhaps he should hum some dramatic music to make himself go faster. 

He decided against that. There was no way he would be able to keep a tune and penetrate himself simultaneously. 

An obscene amount of lube dripped off the head of the dildo, making Bastion think he might’ve been paranoid in how slick he got the toy. The old cliché of ‘better safe than sorry’ most likely applied in this situation, so he ignored his thoughts of wasting perfectly good lubricant in favor of spreading the lube with his free hand, the thing glistening in the bedroom light. 

Minute and a half. He could do this, he thought, pressing the tip against his stretched rim. No sports metaphors were necessary this time to incentivize pushing the toy inside, his breath rattling in his chest, sweat gathering in the dip between his pectorals. Though there was no pain, it was decidedly more difficult than his fingers—less pliable, not as gradual a stretch. The veins, which didn’t feel as raised when he’d traced them with his fingers, felt much more prominent now that they were sliding against the skin of his hole, creating the slightest bit of friction—not painful, just enough to make the muscles of his inner thigh flex. 

Hand blindly reaching for his phone, Bastion once again thought of how he should adapt to make sure his devices didn’t come into contact with lubricant or other bodily fluids, even though it was certainly too late to do anything about that now. Forty-five seconds. He couldn’t see clearly from this angle, but he could surmise he was almost to the hilt. Five inches insertable had seemed underwhelming when he was shopping for the toy, but now as he felt the base press up against his hole, fully seated, feeling filled to bursting, he was pleased he hadn’t gotten ahead of himself and bought the Hassleberry-sized cock. 

Now it was time to watch someone else get stuffed with Hassleberry-sized cock. Or watch him masturbate, that would be acceptable. At any rate, there would be Hassleberry’s cock on-screen. 

Bastion wasn’t sure he would ever tire of watching the countdown hit zero. An excellent tactic for getting the audience excited, he could attest. The second between the number zero and the fade-in to the scenery was filled with endless possibilities, though it was hard to hazard a guess at what would happen during the performance with a dick in his ass. 

“C’mon, Sy—it’s—dammit, we’re live! Get your pretty ass over here before I drag you,” 

“I told you, I didn’t want to fucking—these panties are fucking itchy!” 

Bastion snorted. He didn’t know if Syrus and Hassleberry or Jaden and Chazz were more argumentative. All four in a performance together might settle that. 

It would also give him enough images in his head to never have to watch porn again. 

Hm, no. He would definitely watch it again. 

“Why’re you actin’ like it’ll be on for long?” Hassleberry laughed, beckoning off-camera to where Syrus was. “Come on, I’ll do that thing you like,” 

That was enough to get Syrus on screen. 

“There we go, good girl,” 

Bastion, though aware that Syrus’s act was to dress in feminine clothing, was still stunned by how beautiful he looked. While Hassleberry was dressed in jeans and nothing else—not that Bastion would ever complain, his musculature was enough to make someone keel over from a heart attack—Syrus was much more covered: black thigh-high socks, contrasting with his pale skin, long sleeved, off-the shoulder lilac dress that barely came past his crotch. It had to be a talent, looking that innocent on a god damned porn set. 

“C’mon, sit down,” 

“I’ll stand,” Syrus huffed. 

_shes sassy 2day isnt she lmao_

_lookin good bby getin dressd for daddy_

_aw syrus you look so pretty!!_

“Hey, they think you look pretty. Now stop lookin’ so upset, baby,” Hassleberry reached out, fingers squeezing around his upper arm, tugging him forward. Syrus’s arms remained crossed, even though he let the other man pull him down into his lap, legs resting on the bed, crossed at the ankles. “Say hi, be nice,” 

“Don’t need to tell me how to fucking say hello,” Syrus grumbled, but turned to the camera to smile and wave, lips painted with brilliant pink, eyelashes thickened by mascara behind his glasses. “Hi everyone. We’re so glad to be here with you tonight!” 

Switching between grumpy and cheery damn near gave him whiplash. Bastion did think that Syrus was rather cute when he was annoyed, his nose crinkling and wide grey eyes narrowed in a way that wasn’t menacing at all. Very much like Chazz, trying to glare at Jaden but looking too soft and pretty to put any weight behind it. 

“C’mon, put your arms ‘round me, act like you like me,” Hassleberry’s hand rested on a pale thigh, sliding fingers under the band of the thigh-thigh, pulling him closer, kissing his temple. “Know it’s not your usual set—do I need to get some pillows that say ‘daddy’s girl’ in here?” 

“Fuck off,” Syrus huffed, but acquiesced, uncrossing his arms, sliding them around the other’s neck, cheeks pink from the kissing that continued down his cheek and jaw.   
This set was much more utilitarian, Bastion noticed. Plain background, white sheets pulled tightly across the bed, not a pillow in sight—nor any pink. Very different from Syrus’s set, indeed. He didn’t mind—easier to focus on the performance that way, the performance that would hopefully start soon because his erection needed some attention. 

“Fuck off? Mmm, would rather fuck you,” Hassleberry’s hand fisted Syrus’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Jaden had been the only performer to do any extensive amount of kissing on-screen (Alexis and Zane had kissed but it was too quick for Bastion to really savor the image). Heat—Jaden was pure heat, going into the kiss with teeth and tongue, setting the pace as fast and rough, his hands wandering over his partner’s body. Hassleberry was slower, laying his right hand between Syrus’s shoulder blades, his left relaxing the hold in his hair, their eyes shut as their lips moved together. No tongues or teeth—almost chaste, as if they weren’t about to fuck on camera. 

This was as good an excuse as any to reach down with his hand, fingers wrapping around his cock, running his thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-come over the head, biting back a moan. Bastion, as much as he enjoyed the way the camera focused on their lips coming together, Syrus’s head tilting to the side to press in deeper, dainty hands resting on either side of Hassleberry’s face pulling him closer, he desperately needed there to be some thrusting action so he could flick on the vibrator and go to town. If he did it now, he wouldn’t get through two minutes, he was sure. 

Syrus, for all of his grumbling, was enjoying himself, breathy moans escaping between kisses, his erection creating a bump under his dress. Huffing, he pushed on the larger man’s shoulder, separating them, pink lipstick smeared across Hassleberry’s face. “Takin’ so fuckin’ long,” 

“That’s no way to talk to me,” Hassleberry smiled, revealing a bit of pink on his teeth. 

Standing up, Syrus straddled his lap, back to the camera, back arched and ass presented invitingly. Looking back over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling, he winked to the audience. 

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry daddy,” Syrus’s voice was higher, biting his lip, hands resting on Hassleberry’s shoulders, thumbing across his collarbones. “I’m being bad, aren’t I?” 

If Bastion weren’t so captivated by how delicious Syrus sounded he would’ve laughed at how easily Hassleberry was manipulated. 

“That’s right, pumpkin,” dark hands slid up Syrus’s thighs, fingers skating under the hem of the dress, and Bastion wished that he could see the way his hands cupped his ass. “Sassin’ off to your daddy—should fuck you ‘til you can’t walk to remind you of your place,” 

“Yes, please—fuck me daddy,” Syrus’s hips bucked against Hassleberry’s grinding into his lap, thighs flexing with each movement. 

“That’s what you want, baby? My cock in you, fuckin’ your sweet little pussy, splitting you open like the slut you are?” Hassleberry groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as Syrus moved his hips vigorously. “After a lil’ bit of kissin’ an’ you’re so worked up?” 

“Just need you, need your cock daddy,” 

The words, said so sweetly despite their meaning, made Bastion halt in jerking himself. Though he probably would never have the courage to outright ask to be called ‘daddy’ during sex, he could imagine it—someone begging for him like that, their voice wavering as they grinded their hips into his. 

Briefly, the thought of Tanya calling him ‘daddy’ surfaced. Bastion’s sanity, buried deep underneath the arousal, rebuffed him: she would probably hang him using her own ponytail before that ever happened. 

He could dream though, right? 

Later, he could dream later. Now, Hassleberry was mouthing at the pale boy’s collarbones, sucking and nipping, tongue dipping into the space between them, sinking teeth into his neck. The camera focused on the way Syrus’s eyes fell shut, his cheeks flushing and breaths audible, glasses already sliding halfway down his nose. Hassleberry’s hands were still working beneath Syrus’s dress, though unfortunately the audience was not privy to the activities underneath. Despite it being unbelievably short, it seemed to conspire to keep everyone on edge, desperate to see the swell of his ass or a glimpse of underwear. Though the way Hassleberry was sucking marks onto the smaller boy’s neck was quite sensual, Bastion needed this to move along. 

Syrus needed that too. 

 

“Hey!” Hassleberry huffed as hands gripped his shoulders and forced him backward, a hand leaving Syrus’s ass to stop himself from falling back. 

“Takin’ too long,” Syrus said, pushing himself off of the other’s lap, standing between his legs. “Nobody’s paying to watch you kiss me,” 

“Yeah? What’re they payin’ for, then, baby?” Hassleberry laughed, reaching out to rub his knuckles over a blushed cheek. 

Bastion’s heartbeat skyrocketed as the blue-haired boy’s knees hit the floor. Syrus had sucked Hassleberry’s cock before, sort of—a dildo counted, right?—and since thinking back to how he’d been able to stick the whole thing down to the base without blinking an eye made Bastion have to tighten his hold on his cock, watching the real thing might call for him to stop touching himself altogether. 

Dark eyes looked up past the camera. “Yeah, they like that. Everyone wants to see your mouth around my cock. Be a good girl and get on that,” 

“Hmph, you’re the one that took forever,” Syrus rolled his eyes, hands skating along denim-clad thighs toward his erection. “Should be thanking me for moving it along,” 

“Not my fault you’re just so kissable,” Hassleberry started to laugh, a moan cutting it off as Syrus’s palm rubbed over his still-clothed length. “Come on, baby, don’t tease,” 

Bastion was inclined to agree. 

Pink lipstick smudged on the jeans as Syrus replaced his hand with his mouth, ignoring the request not to tease. Sucking the head earned a nearly pained groan, a please baby that verged on a whine. Bastion surmised that he would make very undignified noises if he had someone slowly mouthing over his cock, looking up at him from between his legs with a nearly triumphant look. How Syrus Truesdale managed to look smug while pantomiming a blowjob Bastion might never know. 

“Does it feel good, daddy?” Syrus pulled back, his fingers—which were painted a faint pink, something Bastion hadn’t noticed before—working at the button on Hassleberry’s jeans. 

“Would be better if you weren’t hell bent on torturing me,” he said, watching intently as Syrus pulled down his zipper, biting his lip as fingers teased his cock, rubbing over the underwear. “C’mon, Sy,” 

Giggling, Syrus complied, hand pulling the thick cock out of the confines of the underwear, the innocent laughter offset by the deep, throaty moan erupting from Hassleberry. Head falling back between his shoulder blades, the sinew in his neck protruded as his breaths sped up with each tug on his cock, Syrus’s pale, dainty hand barely able to close around its girth. Bastion burned with jealousy, though he was torn between being jealous of Hassleberry for having someone so sweet and pretty jerking him off or Syrus for having the opportunity to worship such an exquisite set of male genitalia.

“C’mon, princess, use your mouth,” Hassleberry urged, reaching out to curl his fingers in powder-blue hair, attempting to tug Syrus forward. “Promise I’ll do you after,” 

“Whatever happened to ‘ladies first’?” Syrus rolled his eyes, shaking his head to get the hand out of his hair, running the fingers not wrapped around a cock to comb through the mussed part. 

“God, you’re such a brat,” Hassleberry griped. Bastion had seen the man backhand, choke, and facefuck Jaden in a special before, so it wasn’t like he had any issues being rough. Mounting frustration made him want nothing more than Hassleberry to use his strength to overpower Syrus, who might’ve weighed enough to be the warmup in his exercise routine. Instead, he was using that strength to pick up the small boy, gripping him under his armpits and deadlifting him, gingerly setting him on the bed. “Take off your panties—c’mon, don’t take forever. The camera will have plenty of time to see your cute little ass, don’t needa put on a show,” 

“And I’m the brat?” Syrus grumbled, but complied, reaching under the dress and pulling off the lacy, skimpy fabric. “Now what?”

Hassleberry laid back, dreadlocks fanning around his head. “Gonna eat you out while you suck me off—get on over here,” 

“Hmph, like you’ll be able to focus on making me feel good when your cock’s down my throat,” Syrus rolled his eyes, unimpressed with the proposition. 

“Jesus Christ, Sy. Fine, just sit on my face then,” 

That was much more enticing to both Bastion and Syrus. The blue-haired boy nearly leapt onto the bed, crawling toward Hassleberry’s face, lifting his right leg to straddle him, the hemline of his dress brushing against the other man’s chin. Once again Bastion was faced with the conundrum of not knowing whether he would rather be Syrus or Hassleberry. His indecision was short lived as Syrus lifted his dress, the fabric sliding over the curve of his ass, finally revealing what Bastion had been waiting to see all night—yeah, he would much rather be Hassleberry. 

“God, you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” Hassleberry’s voice was a bit muffled as Syrus’s thighs were pressed against his cheeks. The camera focused on Hassleberry’s hands sliding up the backs of Syrus’s thighs, his right hand stopping momentarily to slide a finger under his thigh-highs, pulling back the elastic so it would snap back against his skin, earning him a yelp. 

“Hurry up, asshole,” Syrus reached down to flick the other man’s forehead, trying to sound angry, but coming out more as a whine. 

“C’mon princess, just let me look at you,”

The sentiment behind that statement was unmistakable, like he’d forgotten he was on a porn set. It hadn’t been lost on Syrus, who turned red enough to resemble the sunburn Bastion got last year from falling asleep by the pool (he couldn’t put on shirts for three days). An uncomfortable, nauseating feeling twisted in Bastion’s stomach, and it wasn’t because there was silicone in his rectum—was this jealousy? It wasn’t even like Hassleberry declared his undying love for Syrus, just commented on how attractive he was. Even if it was said in such a tender way, it was stupid to get jealous of two porn stars—coworkers, porn star coworkers to be exact—when he should be focused on the impending face-sitting. 

“Later, Ty, I promise,” Syrus said, hand reaching down to presumably touch the other man’s cheek (his thigh was still blocking the other’s face). “Now eat me out before I smother you,” 

“Yes ma’am,” 

Bastion’s cock nearly convulsed when Hassleberry gripped Syrus’s ass, his palms big enough to cover each cheek—a reminder of how small Syrus was despite his domineering personality—and spread them, the camera blessing the audience with a close-up of Syrus’s hole. The memories of watching it stretch around a dildo that should’ve split him clean in half would be enough to keep Bastion warm at night for eternity, yet that was nothing compared to the supernova in his stomach when Hassleberry’s tongue flattened against the pucker, Syrus’s thighs flexing as he let out a whimper. 

The camera switched angles, allowing Bastion to see Syrus’s facial expressions with much more clarity. He’d let go of his dress, it falling down on to Hassleberry’s face, leaving only his dreadlocks visible, his cock making an adorable little bump. 

“Ah, daddy,” he moaned, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, pink lipstick smearing on his teeth and glasses sliding down his nose a centimeter as he dropped his chin to his chest. “Daddy, yes—you make your little girl feel so good,” 

Pre-come dripped on to Bastion’s stomach, the filthy sounds coming from the phone making him lightheaded. It was criminal how Syrus was looking at the camera, his eyes halfway shut, makeup smeared around his eyes just enough to make them look smoky and sultry, skin flushed down to his collarbones. Bastion jerked his cock in time with each undulation of Syrus’s hips, his own noises joining Syrus’s, unable to hold them in—between the friction against his cock and the whines of daddy, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to last much longer. 

Pulling his hand back, Bastion sucked in deep breaths, wanting to enjoy the performance to the end. Syrus was now massaging his nipples through the dress, his glasses dangerously close to falling off, making Bastion want to reach through the phone and push them back into place. The camera panned down Hassleberry’s body, focusing on his exquisite abdominals—Bastion thanked the benevolent camera crew—down to his still hard cock, which was an angry red and dripping, obviously enjoying eating Syrus out as much as Syrus was. 

“Fuck, daddy! I’m gonna come—gonna come all over your face!” 

Hassleberry gripped the smaller boy’s hips, lifting him up so he could speak. “Jerk off for the camera, princess, let everyone see your pretty little dick,”

Though his typical response to any suggestion from Hassleberry was to roll his eyes and make a sarcastic comment, Syrus was surprisingly compliant. One hand left where it was pinching his nipples to curl around his dress, lifting it up, his cock curving back toward his stomach. Now that the dress was out of the way, it was much easier to see Hassleberry’s mouth working to please Syrus, though Bastion had to admit he was significantly more interested in the hand curling around Syrus’s cock, pink fingernails complimenting the flush of his cock. 

“Daddy—daddy keep going, I’m so close. Gonna squirt all over you, daddy,” 

Bastion’s hand wrapped around his cock again, unable to resist how it was throbbing, needing his attention even though he was about ten strokes away from busting prematurely. He’d have to be careful, maybe count to nine or something. 

Syrus’s voice grew louder, his weight sitting more fully on Hassleberry’s face as he fucked his fist, thighs sliding farther apart until his ass was on the other’s chest. If Hassleberry weren’t built like a Greek god then Bastion might be worried about his ability to breathe, but there was no way that a man as light as Syrus was causing him any discomfort. 

“Fuck!” Syrus’s hips stilled, stomach tensing and thighs shaking as he sped up his strokes, wet noises emanating from the phone speakers as he chased completion. Eyes squeezing shut and brow furrowing, he whimpered out a few more expletives before his entire body contracted, come dripping onto his manicured fingers, some of it landing on the bed and on Hassleberry’s dreadlocks. 

“Princess,” Hassleberry’s voice sounded much rougher and deeper, making Bastion’s arms erupt in goosebumps, his mind wandering to how sexy it would be to hear that voice right in his ear. “Lay on your back for me, alright?” 

Syrus nodded, unable to respond as he was still trying to catch his breath. Nearly collapsing back onto the bed, Bastion admired how angelically his powder-blue hair spilled around his head like a halo. The dress was hiked up around his waist, his cock softening against his still-heaving stomach, legs spread so Hassleberry could roll over and crawl between them. 

“Are you gonna let me kiss you, darlin’?” 

“You’ll taste like ass,” 

“Seein’ as it’s your ass you only have yourself to blame,” he laughed, leaning down over Syrus, their noses brushing against each other. Syrus huffed, pouting, before bringing the other man down for a kiss. “Was that bad?” 

“It’s only bad because it’s you,” 

“Bein’ so mean to me after I made you come—” 

“Technically, I made myself come—” 

“Jesus, baby can you let me have anything?” Hassleberry looked into the camera, shaking his head. “Do y’all see how Syrus treats me?” 

The comments urged Syrus to be nicer to him. 

“Alright, alright I get it. Now get on with whatever you wanna do,” Syrus pushed on his chest, urging him to continue. 

Hassleberry needed no more encouragement. Leaning back on his heels, he gripped Syrus’s thighs, bringing them together, his cock trapped between them. Bastion, though no less aroused, was a bit confused, fully expecting to see Hassleberry plow Syrus into the mattress. Syrus didn’t seem bothered, crossing his feet at the ankle and resting them on the other’s shoulder. 

The camera zoomed in to where the head of Hassleberry’s cock was poking out from between the smaller boy’s thighs. “I don’t feel like stretchin’ you out properly to fuck you right now. Gonna come all over that pretty dress of yours then take you home to fill your pussy till you can’t walk,” 

Hassleberry thrust between Syrus’s thighs, letting out raspy moans as the soft flesh enveloped his cock, the pre-come making it slide faster and faster with each pass. Originally, Bastion was planning to leave the vibrator off until there was penetration on screen; however, there would be none of that in this performance so now would be the opportune time to test it out. Reaching down between his legs, he felt for the switch, struggling to get a good enough grip on it for a moment—perhaps he had put too much lube—before finally feeling it erupt inside him. 

The plan was to thrust it in and out of himself, mimicking what was happening on screen. The plan was now no longer in effect—the head of the vibrator was pressed perfectly inside him, making his entire body feel like he was doused in magma (fitting, as the ‘virgin sacrificed to the volcano’ trope was still alive and well). Hassleberry was grunting, his thighs slapping against Syrus’s, but Bastion was unable to focus, the phone dropping from his hand and onto his comforter, noises fading as he struggled to keep control of his body, which wanted nothing more than to grind his ass down onto the bed to force the toy deeper. 

Bastion couldn’t remember the last time his mind was this blissfully blank, only focused on how to come, to release all tension that had been building since the first finger he’d slid into himself. Flipping on to his stomach, face buried in the pillow to the point breathing was Olympic sport level difficulty, he grinded his cock into the bed—last time he’d done this, he’d been incredibly embarrassed, unable to look at himself the morning after. He’d even thrown out the bed sheets, unconvinced that no number of cycles in the washing machine would rid it of sin. 

The pillow vibrated with each moan, and over the sound of blood in his ears he thought he could hear his bedframe creaking as his thrusts gained more force. He could feel pinpricks of electric pleasure along his spine, his stomach quivering and cock throbbing as he neared his peak. After spending so much time trying not to come, Bastion’s very soul sighed in relief as he allowed himself to keep going, hurtling toward the proverbial edge. Or, since he had been using sports metaphors all evening, sprinting toward home base. 

Sliding across home plate had never felt so satisfying. Between the vibrations inside him and he stimulation of the bedsheets on his cock, his orgasm overtook him so violently he could feel tears dripping out of his eyes, euphoria making him feed like he’d just ascended to another plane, like he had separated from his body long enough to watch himself sob through the aftershocks, not wanting to stop as come covered his sheets, his cock overstimulated to the point of pain. 

Once he had come down enough to recalibrate himself, Bastion rolled on to his side, flicking off the switch and slowly extricating the toy, his rim the slightest bit sore. He’d be able to walk tomorrow, but sitting may be the slightest bit uncomfortable. 

His phone was silent, implying that the show on EA had ended. It was a bit unfortunate that he’d missed the ending—Hassleberry looked stunning when he came, after all—but he had more pressing matters to tend to. 

Namely, the issue of how he would ever be able to enjoy baseball without immediately associating it with a mustard-yellow dildo and explosive orgasms.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope yall enjoyed!!!! i have the idea for part 8 in my head so im gonna go ahead and get started on that. hopefully see yall soon if school doesnt absolutely murder me this semester


End file.
